The Parent Trap
by sesame.seed.bagels
Summary: Perhaps it was the hands of fate, or maybe it was England's fairies. But while they didn't know the cause, Matthew and Alfred knew there was a reason for their timely meeting. The Parent Trap: Hetalia style. FrUK later. AU.
1. Goodbyes

A/N: Okay, so this is The Parent Trap: Hetalia style. And while it doesn't really follow true to the plotline, it should still make sense (or as much sense as I can make my stories, which isn't too much) even if you've never seen The Parent Trap. And I'm still trying to figure out the science of it. Because two men having babies is impossible, so I've been told. Ugh, things have to be so complicated. Enjoy.

Matthew Williams stepped quietly out of the car, shutting the door to the backseat behind him. The hustle and bustle around him didn't halt at the appearance of the shiny, black town car or the skinny Canadian boy, which wasn't too unusual for him. He leaned through the open driver's window, coming face-to-face with his handsome, long-haired father, Francis Bonnefoy.

"Oh, mon cher, do you have to leave?" he asked, his long, thick eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously. Matthew, used to his obscene behaviour, just rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to miss you too, mon pere," the boy replied, wrapping his arms around Francis's neck and squeezing. "It's only three weeks, though, and I promise to write you every other day."

Francis chuckled, returning his son's embrace. "As I promise to write back." He kissed Matthew on the cheek and let him slither out the car window. "Au revoir, mon amour."

"Au revoir," Matthew echoed, picking up his luggage from where it was piled outside the trunk and watching Francis drive away. Turning around, he looked at the long line of campers waiting to register and joined in at the back. The people in front of him didn't even seem to notice his presence, and he clutched his little polar bear, Kumajirou.

Meanwhile, a crowd of people were eagerly gathering in the long, semicircular driveway. A sleek, ivory-coloured limosuine pulled slowly up to the curb, and chattering began as a teenager wearing jeans, an olive green t-shirt, and his favourite bomber jacket stepped out of the backseat, toting his luggage nonchalantly behind him with impressive strength. He flashed a smile and began to wave to the crowd before his hand was pulled down by a short, crabby blonde man who had just stepped out of the limo behind him.

"Alfred," he scolded in a heavy British accent, glaring at him, "cut the shit, please."

Alfred F. Jones scoffed melodramatically, causing the crowd of girls around him to giggle. "Yes, _Mother_," he replied mockingly, and more laughter erupted. His father, Arthur Kirkland, blushed and rolled his eyes at the giddy teens.

"Promise me you won't get anybody knocked up over the next three weeks, okay?"

The pair dragged the enormous amount of baggage into the registration line behind a boy about Alfred's height holding a stuffed animal. "I promise," Alfred replied. "I'm sure nobody here is really my type."

Arthur chuckled, waiting patiently in line with his son as the boy in front of them registered. "Alfred F. Jones," the obnoxiously loud American stated when he was finally done.

"Oh, yes," the gruff, German man at the register stated. "We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival, Mr. Jones." He handed Alfred a paper to sign and looked back at Arthur, tilting his head. "Are you going to be registering, too?" he asked.

The Brit gasped as Alfred grinned devilishly. "No," the boy answered for his father. "I know it's kind of hard to tell, considering he's so short-" Arthur scowled at more laughter from the gang that seemed to follow them- "but really, he's just here to drop me off. He's my dad, actually."

The man looked shocked, and stuttered, embarassed. "Oh- oh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't- I- have a safe trip home." He nodded curtly and excused them. Arthur shook his head as his son roared with laughter.

"You can always come camping with me, dad."

"I think I'll pass."

"Okay, fine." Alfred shrugged and wrapped his big arms around the shorter man, startling him. He didn't return the hug, unable to move his limbs. When the American finally let go of him, Arthur gave his son an ugly glare. "Bye!" Alfred said sweetly.

"Hmph. Good riddance," Arthur replied, but a smile played at the edges of his mouth. Finally, he gave Alfred a proper hug. "Will you send me postcards and whatnot?"

Alfred's heart suddenly melted. "Of course I will. And I promise not to get anyone knocked up."

"Yes, you know what came of it the last time that happened," his father joked.

"Yeah. Me." Alfred smiled and let the crowd engulf him while the Brit walked back to the limo. They kidded all the time about the summer romance that had led to the child's birth, but in truth, the child really missed having two parents. Sometimes, he even wondered about siblings, and why Arthur's mystery love didn't care to have another child, even if it was with his pessimistic, feminine father.

Across the courtyard, Matthew Williams watched all the action surrounding this curious new boy and wondered the very same thing.

A/N: So, yeah, corny ending. Sorry about that. Reviews appreciated.


	2. Letters

"Alfred, save a spot for me!" a young blonde girl shouted across the cafeteria, causing a sea of heads to turn.

Alfred was beaming. "Of course, Sherri," he said, winking seductively at her. He was having an insanely hard time keeping his dad's promise, especially being without adult supervision and around so many girls. But Alfred Jones was a hero, and heroes always kept their promises. He sat down to his first lunch at camp, at the very center of the most crowded table in the room.

On the other end of the spectrum and the lunchroom, Matthew Williams sat alone with Kumajirou, his bear. "Who?" the bear asked.

"Matthew," he mumbled in reply, his mouth full. See? Even Kumajirou didn't remember who he was. The only person who even seemed to care about him at all was his father, and he was miles away. He was suddenly overcome with homesickness, and figured that this would be a good time to write a letter.

_Dear Francis,_

_ Camp is different. Nice is much warmer than Paris, so most of my jeans need to be rolled up. I also haven't worn my sweatshirt yet, because at night we sit around a campfire, and it gets very warm. _

_ Nobody here plays hockey like I do, except for a very scary kid named Ivan who is very intimidating. He challenged me to a match, and then he grew very angry when I won. I'm not sure if my hockey stick can be repaired, but the bruises on my arms will surely be gone by the time I return._

_ Anyways, I am enjoying the weather. Most of the kids here aren't too friendly, though. Actually, I'm eating lunch alone right now. But, really, it isn't too_

His letter was suddenly interrupted by a puddle of diet soda that ran down the table and soaked the bottom of his paper. The mess originated from a loud American who had just plopped himself down across from Matthew. "Sorry about that," he said through a mouth full of hamburger. The Canadian would've replied, but he was too busy staring.

The popular kid looked exactly like him, all the way down to the glasses slowly sliding down his angular nose.

"H-hi," Matthew managed. "Um- excuse me, but... why are you over here?" He craned his neck to look at the table that Alfred had just left. A gaggle of kids were looking over, mouths wide, as the cool kid conversed with the invisible boy who talked to his bear.

Alfred laughed loudly. "Can't you see? I'm the hero, and heroes never let anyone get left out, even though you are kind of weird, kid." He punched Matthew lightly in the arm, but his recent encounter with Ivan made the contact hurt a little bit more. The Canadian whined.

"My name is Matthew Williams," Matthew said awkwardly, sticking out a hand. Alfred shook it fervently.

"Well, hey there, Matthew. I'm Alfred F. Jones," he replied. "Hey, did you ever notice that we look a lot alike? That's funny, huh?"

The timid boy blinked a few times. Hadn't he noticed it at first sight? Wow, he really was thick, Matthew thought. He tried not to be judgemental, though. After all, Alfred had the courtesy to come over and sit with him, and that sure hadn't happened before. "Yeah, it's funny. Maybe your parents look like mine or something- but no, that's impossible. I'm French," he stated proudly.

"That's awesome!" Alfred suddenly burst out, thumping his hands on the table. This caused more diet soda to spill on the table and all over Matthew's near-ruined letter. "Do you speak French or whatever?"

"Oui," Matthew replied nonchalantly.

Alfred gave his new acquaintance a blank expression. "That means 'yes' in French," Matthew prompted.

"Oh!" the American said, enlightened. "That's pretty cool. I only speak English. That's what my dad speaks. It's funny, though, because I look more like you than I do like him." He chuckled, not really amused.

Matthew pretended to be interested to his rant. "Oh, really?" he asked, wanting his new acquaintance to keep talking so he wouldn't have to reply. "Where's your mom?"

"Oh, I was the product of a summer romance," Alfred announced. "My dad always said that he fell fast. I don't have anything but one picture of my other father. Actually, I have it back in my cabin."

Not really listening, the Canadian nodded. Before they knew it, lunchtime was over and it was time to go back to the cabins to get ready for their afternoon swim session. This was Matthew's least favourite part of the day, because everybody seemed to kick and splash him in the overcrowded pool without even noticing. Perhaps he'd finish his letter to Francis-

Then he realized that his letter had been completely spilled over with diet soda, courtesy of Alfred. He should've been annoyed, but really, nobody else had even noticed him, and he almost felt a strange connection with the obnoxious boy. Sighing across the cafeteria, where Alfred had rejoined his friends, Matthew took his ruined letter and shook it, trying his best to preserve his words.


End file.
